


Gin And Tonic Jelly

by DoctorBilly



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Gen, Mention of claustrophobia, Trope: under the influence, Vomit, letswritesherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 10:33:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2021784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorBilly/pseuds/DoctorBilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade and Dimmock are drunk. Very drunk. Sally is sober, and amazing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gin And Tonic Jelly

"How much did you have to drink, sir?"

Lestrade tilted his head to one side, screwed his eyes closed, then opened them again quickly as the staircase heaved under him. He swayed, almost staggered before grabbing the handrail, dropping Dimmock's arm in the process. Dimmock slumped in a heap, dragging Sally Donovan down with him.

Lestrade sat on the top step and tried again. Kept his eyes open, this time. Thinking was  _hard_.

"Two or three pints. Maybe four? Couple of scotches…"

Donovan shot him a look through narrowed eyelids. She was sober.

Lestrade was famous for his capacity to drink and stay on his feet. Donovan had never seen him this drunk, in all the time she had known him.

"That's not enough to have you in this state. What about him?"

She gestured at Dimmock, who was all but unconscious on the steps.

"Couple of halves of cider. Two or three rum and blacks. Lightweight. Can't hold his booze."

Lestrade scoffed, then spoilt his moment of mockery by throwing up over his own shoes.

Donovan sighed. Dimmock was in no fit state to find his door key. Lestrade was as good as useless. She tried Dimmock's coat pockets. No luck. The key was not in his jacket either. _Of_   _course_. She gritted her teeth and fumbled in his trouser pocket while Lestrade leered at her.

"Found anything interesting, Sal?"

"Shut up. Sir."

Donovan finally retrieved the key and tried to open the front door to Dimmock's flat. The key did not fit. She looked carefully at it, and at the lock. The key appeared to have been designed for a completely different type of lock.

"Sir, the key doesn't fit."

"No. It wouldn't."

Lestrade looked at her mournfully.

"I wanna go home, Sal. Why've you brought me here?"

"Dimmock's was on the way. Quicker to get him home first. Why doesn't the key fit?"

"He doesn't live here…"

"He does. I've been here before."

"Used to…urgh"

Lestrade heaved again. Missed his shoes this time.

"Sir. If you don't stop doing that I'll have to arrest you for being drunk and disorderly."

Lestrade tried to pat Donovan on the shoulder, missed and clouted her round the ear.

"Okay. Enough. I'm calling in…"

"Don't be like that, Sal."

"Why didn't you tell me to go to his _actual_ address?"

"You get annoyed when I tell you to do things…"

"Only when you tell me to do _stupid_ things."

She sighed. Wished she'd let someone else take these two home.

"I've got better things to do with my time than babysit drunk detectives. Sir. _WHERE DOES DI DIMMOCK LIVE?_ "

Lestrade winced.

"No need to shout, Sal. He moved…"

Donovan grits her teeth.

"Yes sir. Where to?"

"New place. Fancy. Somewhere in Docklands…"

"That's not helpful, sir."

She groaned. They'd just about got Dimmock up the two flights of stairs to what she'd been sure was his flat. Now she had to get him down again. And Lestrade was going to be no help.

She braced herself and pulled Dimmock to his feet, tucking one arm around him, under both shoulders. With the other arm, she hung on tightly to the banister rail as she eased her way sideways down the steps, half dragging, half carrying Dimmock with her. She manhandled him into the back seat of her car, locked him in and went back for her boss.

Lestrade was sitting where she had left him, looking lonely and sad.

"Where did you go, Sal? You left me…"

"Had to get DI Dimmock back downstairs, sir."

"I would have helped…"

"With all due respect, sir, you have been worse than useless so far…"

"That's insta.....insubordination, sergeant."

"Yes sir. Put me on a charge in the morning, sir. If you remember, sir."

Donovan pulls Lestrade to his feet.

"Come on, sir. Let's get you downstairs."

Donovan made Lestrade take his shoes off and put them in an evidence bag before she would let him in her car. He had perked up a bit after throwing up, although he was no less drunk, and no closer to dragging Dimmock's new address from the woolly recesses of his mind.

Dimmock would have to stay at Lestrade's place. Donovan had someone waiting for her at home, and there was no way she was going to ruin her whole night by lumbering herself with a drunk.

By the time Donovan had driven the few miles to his home in St Johns Wood, Lestrade was slumped against the passenger window, snoring quietly. Donovan took a chance and left him there while she dragged Dimmock into the lift up to the third floor. She hoped he would be okay, knew she had no chance at all of getting him into the lift with them.

She dumped Dimmock outside Lestrade's door and went back to get her boss. He grumbled in his sleep, but she managed to get him on his feet, sleepwalking. There were six flights of steps up to the third floor of the old building. Six hazardous flights. She swore under her breath.

_"This won't be much fun"._

She debated trying the lift again. She _might_ be able to restrain Lestrade if he woke up and his claustrophobia made him panic. She'd been trained in dealing with physical situations. But he was her boss, and her friend. She wouldn't be able to forgive herself if she triggered him.

She took a deep breath, set her shoulders, and began the long, slow climb. They made it to the top floor without any falls, without any more vomiting. Dimmock was still where she had left him, curled up against the door.

Lestrade was semi-awake by the time they got to his flat, able to find his own keys, able to follow instructions. Donovan breathed a silent _'thank you_ ' to any deity that might be within earshot.

"Where shall we put him, sir?"

"Bed. Nearer the bathroom…"

Lestrade had begun to sober up a little. He was a bit disorientated, still a bit unsteady on his feet, but he was awake, and able to hold up his end of a limited conversation. He was what the newspapers like to call _'tired and emotional_ '.

"Why did you bring him here, Sal?"

"Because he's too drunk to talk and you couldn't remember his new address, sir."

"Right. Okay. Thanks Sal. You're a star. You do know that, don't you? I'd be lost without you…"

"Yes sir, I know. Still don't understand how you got so drunk, though."

Donovan left him to get himself to bed. He forgot Dimmock was in the flat until he discovered him in his bed. He pulled off Dimmock's shoes and laid down beside him. He didn't bother to get undressed, but did get confused when he tried to take his own shoes off.

In the morning, he woke to find Dimmock pressed against him, arms around him. He chuckled as Dimmock woke up. The young DI didn't realise where he is at first, or who he was cuddling. When he did, he blushed.

"Sir? Why am I … Why are we…? My head hurts.…"

Lestrade laughed quietly, cuddling back.

"Drunk. Sally didn't know where else to take you."

Lestrade's phone rang. It was Sally Donovan.

"Morning sir. I've got your shoes, if you were looking for them. Sorry."

"Why have you got my shoes, Sally?"

"You were sick on them. I had it analysed. There was a much higher percentage of alcohol than I expected, sir. More than would have been in the drinks you said you had. Has DI Dimmock woken up yet?"

"Yes, Sally. With a headache."

"Not surprising, given the state he was in last night. Are you sure you didn't have more to drink, sir?"

"I'm sure. And I took care to eat, so I wouldn't have an empty stomach."

"What did you eat, sir?"

"Sandwiches and stuff. And some of that lemony jelly. That was nice. I had two or three bowls of that."

"Lemony…"

Lestrade could hear Donovan laughing on the other end of the phone. Wondered what was so funny .

"Sir, did DI Dimmock have any of that?"

"Dimmock, did you have any of that lemony jelly? Sal wants to know."

"Yeah. It was nice. I meant to ask Mrs Gregson for the recipe. I finished off what was left in the serving bowl."

"Hello, Sally? Yeah he did. Why?"

"It's Mrs Gregson's speciality. I didn't have any because I was driving."

"Why would you give jelly a miss because you were driving?"

"It's strong stuff, sir. Gin and tonic jelly. Not too much tonic, as I recall. She puts a bit of lemon in it for extra flavour …"

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Let's Write Sherlock challenge 15, trope bingo card 4. The trope is 'Under the influence'. 
> 
> I saw a recipe for gin and tonic jelly a little while ago, and really wanted to incorporate it into a fic. I think it works…
> 
> I'm sure the vomit analysis is a bit sketchy, but narrative imperative…


End file.
